Review. I was attracted to both Glenn and Tanner, but for different reasons.
Glenn offered wealth and powerâheady enticementsâas well as his open affection and his eagerness to woo me. He was gentlemanly, and I enjoyed his company. But I felt no spark. In spite of his vast accomplishments, Glenn was essentially a dressed-up techie, a nerd in designer clothing. Whatâs more, I had lingering fears that this captain of e-industry harbored some ingrained control issues, and I had always cherished my independence.
As for Tannerâoh, God, the sparks. I had never been driven much by sexual quests, but Tanner had changed that the first time we touched. I couldnât get enough of him. Similarly, remarkably, his appetite for me seemed forever unsatisfied. Most attractive, though, was his sheer potential as both an actor and a mature human being. He was right there, on the verge, on the brink, of shooting to stardomâunder my direction. What an aphrodisiac! But the difference in our agesâwas I crazy?
Glenn was asking Tanner, âAnd where exactly is the clock?â
âIt belongs to someone in Rancho Mirage.â
I told Glenn, âThe clock is from Stewart Chaffeeâs collection. Weâre picking it up at his estate. He was a hotshot society decorator, but now heâs elderly and concentrates on collecting art and antiques.â
âSure, I know Stewart. Back in his prime, he was the most highly regarded decorator in the valley, and with good reason. His interiors speak for themselves; theyâre timeless.â Glenn paused, then shook his head, adding, âBut I have to wonder if Stewartâs years arenât catching up with him.â
I admitted, âHe has some health problems,â an understatement.
âI mean, up hereââGlenn tapped his noggin. âIâve seen much of Stewartâs collection, and frankly, I feel heâs lost his ability to discern between fine art and the merely mediocre.â
I grinned. âIâm sure thatâs an exaggeration, Glenn.â More to the point, I was sure it was sour grapes. Glenn himself had become an avid art collector, with virtually unlimited funds for the pursuit of his genteel pastime. His background in the arts, however, was relatively recent, while Stewart Chaffeeâs knowledge had a pedigreeâa provenanceâstemming from his long career.
âCostume parade! Ten minutes!â Kiki Jasper-Plunkett whooshed down the aisle, rattling two armloads of bracelets as she called to the cast.
Tanner and Thad darted off.
From the side of his mouth, Glenn asked, âCostume parade?â
I explained, âItâs a final review of all the costumes for the show, onstage, with full lights and makeup. Weâll check to see that everything visual has gelled.â
A tall woman of dramatic demeanor, Kiki jangled over to us. âItâs so exciting, isnât it? I love this momentâassuming I donât discover that itâs back to the olâ drawing board.â She laughed too loudly, a touch of hysteria coloring her voice.
I assured her, âEverything will be gorgeous, Kiki. Youâve outdone yourself, as usual.â Kiki was my oldest friend, having attended theater school with me more than thirty years earlier. Her career path had led to costuming, mine to directing. Glenn had recruited her to his faculty ahead of me, assuming correctly that her presence at DAC would further entice me to make the move. Now Kiki and I were neighbors, living in the same condominium complex as Grant Knoll.
âMadam Director,â bellowed a voice from the back of the hall.
All heads turned.
âMaestro Caldwell,â I answered. âHave you come to deliver your new opus?â
âI have,â he intoned, âI have.â His voice filled the auditorium as he bounded down the stairs. Our sound technician, noting the composerâs arrival, followed.
Caldwell was
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